


Waiting Room

by sky_blue_hightops



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Drowning, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Promises, Water, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 10:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17222387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops
Summary: It happened so quickly he didn’t have time to react.One second he was kneeling over a thirium puddle, the nails of the old dock they were investigating digging into his knees, and the next second the rotted wood under him gave way.





	Waiting Room

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was injured!Connor and Hank staying with him through repairs!

It happened so quickly he didn’t have time to react.

One second he was kneeling over a thirium puddle, the nails of the old dock they were investigating digging into his knees, and the next second the rotted wood under him gave way.

For a brief moment, everything stopped - his sensors all gave out in unison, before snapping back on with a disorienting jolt. The unexpected change in pressure triggered his respiration program involuntarily, and his next breath was met with a rush of water in his nose and mouth and down into his vocal modulator. He coughed, but the action only tore bubbles of air from his throat. Water flooded systems that weren’t meant to intake water, panic squeezing his chest.

He struggled vainly in the water for 2.1 seconds, pushing against the water and trying to find the surface - his gyroscope had shorted out again after the inital shock, the delicate machinery within unable to stand the extreme conditions his body was being subjected to. He stretched his arms upward, reaching for something to grab, some way to pull himself up -

His fingers broke the surface, and he kicked out with his legs. Emergency protocols crowded his vision, a bright red and blue against the murky grey-black of the water surrounding him. A stream of small bubbles trickled up his throat and from the miniscule ventilation holes peppered across his face. He called out -  _Hank! Hank, help!_  - but the cries were swallowed by the water.

**WARNING: LIQUID SUBSTANCE IN RESPIRATORY SYSTEM. BIOCOMPONENTS CORRUPTED. EXIT WATER AND CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS.**

**WARNING: OVERRIDING RESPIRATORY CONTROL.**

He gasped as his respiratory system went offline, valves opening ( _-they shouldn’t be, they shouldn’t - his tertiary systems were disabled-_ ) and water rushing in freely. He couldn’t hold his breath anymore, the last of it leaving him in a flurry of bubbles.

Oxygen wasn’t essential for his systems, but without the air in his chest cavities, he began to sink further under the surface. It became harder to struggle, his limbs moving weakly in the thick, heavy water. His optical input dimmed, and his chest stuttered as the water pervaded his crucial biocomponents.

_Need…help…_

He trembled in the cold water. The panic subsided a bit, only to be replaced with resignation. He drifted, eyes half-closed, his sensors almost completely offline. His attempts to push upwards in the water were short-lived; he was just so….tired…

**WARNING: ALL MAJOR BIOCOMPONENTS COMPROMISED. BODY TEMPERATURE BELOW RECOMMENDED LEVELS.**

**CYBERLIFE CONNECTION OFFLINE. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT.**

The bright red of the warnings contrasted with the empty feeling of the water. Water? Darkness. He was lost in nothing. It felt like nothing, save the soft whispers of the current against his skin.

The whispering grew louder, tugging and pulling as something displaced the water near him. A rush of bubbles. A faint noise, loud against the quiet. He cracked his eyes open, unaware they had even closed.

Arms wrapped around him, a familiar leather jacket slippery against his skin. He mumbled, mouth clumsy around words he didn’t have the air to form. He didn’t resist the hold, too weak to do anything but let Hank pull the both of them back up to the surface.

Hank guided both of them to the shore and dragged Connor up the bank, shouts of concern-mixed-irritation muffled and very far away. The android rolled on his side and coughed up as much of the water as he could before he went limp and let the rest trickle out of his mouth. Firm hands thumped against his back and helped him sit upright.

**WARNING: REPAIRS NEEDED. CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS.**

Another thump and a jerk of his head had water rushing from his ears in a sudden relief of pressure and a sudden return to normal hearing. “-hey, alright, up we get-” Connor stumbled to his feet, Hank’s hands under his arms to steady him.

“Need-” Water sputtered in his vocal modulator, and he coughed it up and spat it out. “-need repairs.” Another cough, another mouthful of water.

Hank started them in the direction of the car, bearing Connor’s weight and steadying him whenever his dragging feet caught on stones or edges in the dark. “The one off Main?”

Connor shook his head, struggling to talk. “Off- off Park. Right equipment-” Feedback emitted from his modulator.

Hank scoffed. “What, they got the android equivalent of a bag of rice?”

“No, I do not believe-” Connor trailed off. Confusion flickered behind the numb awareness in the android’s eyes. “Believe-” He rubbed his throat. “What…were we talking about?”

“Just…let’s get you in the car, alright?” He opened the door with the hand that wasn’t keeping Connor upright, fumbling with the keys and the handle. “Sit tight, kid.”

***

Finding the repair shop (was it technically a hospital now?) was easy. Driving as fast as he could risk down the empty Detroit streets (empty being ‘no major crime happening’) was easy. Keeping Connor from falling asleep or passing out or whatever the android term for it is was very  _not_  easy.

“Hey. Hey! List me off the capitals of Europe. Then Africa. In alphabetical order. Also the year they were built.” Hank’s still-wet hands, cold from the freezing lake water and how tight he had gripped Connor’s jacket, gripped the steering wheel with almost that same tightness. He was dimly aware of his own shivering, but cranked up the heat and resolved to ignore it until Connor was taken care of. Beside him, artificial fingers fiddled with clothes-hems and numb lips shaped slurred words, and that only served to make his worry worse.

Connor mumbled on in the background as Hank took some pretty rough turns,  _almost_  regretting the wear and tear on his brakes. “Hank?”

Hank squinted at the blur of neon signs and reflective street signs. “Yeah?”

“You missed it. It is approximately 100 feet behind us and on the right.”

Hank cursed loudly, throwing the car in reverse probably too harshly before pulling in before the clinical exterior of Detroit’s most well-equipped repair shop (hospital??). It took all of two minutes to get both of them out of the car (the android was  _heavy_  but at least he wasn’t as heavy as when all that water had been weighing him down) and stumbling up the steps to the door, which slid open with a woosh and comforting brush of warm air.

One of the workers (nurses?) still on shift noticed them, blue LED shifting yellow, and jogged up to assist. He drew Connor’s arm over his shoulders to let the android hang limply between the worker and Hank, asking questions and making observations that Hank addressed the best he could, until the last one. “I’ll need you to stay here in the waiting room, if that’s alright. Someone will be out shortly to fully inform you of RK800’s situation.”

“Nuh uh, nope. I stay with him. I should be listed as his primary contact.” Hank’s tight grip on Connor’s jacket returned full force.

The android allowed a half-second of silence, most likely confused by the situation or checking the record, but didn’t deny Hank of helping him walk the mostly-out-of-it android through the set of doors behind the front desk and into the repairs bay. Beds more suited for hard plastic exteriors than soft, flesh ones lined the sides of the bay and formed rows in the center of the open space, their metal surfaces glinting in the harsh overhead lighting. The two pulled Connor to the closest one, and as the worker hooked Connor up to several unfamiliar machines and monitors, Hank settled a hand on Connor’s own. There were no chairs by these bedsides, the sterile environment unaccustomed to hosting patients with company that would actually follow them back as they were subjected to who-knows-what.

Connor’s LED hadn’t stopped cycling red once since his fall into the water, and before he was fully aware of doing so, Hank lifted his hand to brush it. The cool glass was smooth and untouched. Unbroken. He drew his hand back and realized it was shaking.

“Sir, your body temperature is below optimal. Would you like a blanket?” He didn’t lift his head or make eye contact. He wanted to be loud and angry and threatening and everything he normally was in the face of worry and fear, but he didn’t have the energy nor did he want to risk disturbing Connor, as stupid as the thought was. The android’s footsteps as it left echoed in the open space, but nothing felt louder than the hum of… _whatever_  machine was hooked in under the lip of where the insides of Connor’s chest lay exposed.

“I’m staying. I promise, kid. You shouldn’t have to be here alone.”

***

**Sensors_Right_Metacarpals: Disabled**

**Sensors_Left_Metacarpals: Engaged**

**Processing…**

**Processing…**

**Processing…**

**Tactile input registered and recognized.**

**Defense Systems: Disengaged**

Connor blinked twice, calibrating and recalibrating as he lifted his head from the metal surface below him. Bright overhead lighting filled his vision, dimming his processes until his eyes could adjust. His memory recall program prompted brief flashes of what had occurred earlier in the evening, but he dismissed it quickly at the startlingly-accurate imitation of the water that had rasped in the back of his throat.

Sensors adjusted and mostly online, he sat up at an angle of 27 degrees elevated from the metal surface, enough to just bring his arms and hands into his field of view. Tubes and lines threaded from the inside of the panel of his right wrist, coiling off the edge of the table and into a selection of machines next to it. Faint blue scratches ran up and down his forearm, tracing a faint physical reminder of the violence with which the dock had collapsed.

Pressed against his left hand and wrist was the only source of warmth in the chill of the repairs bay. Connor curled his fingers around Hank’s as much as he could, the movement weak but intentioned. The lieutenant remained fast asleep, chin to his chest and both hands clasped around Connor’s (the waiting room chair under him seemingly out of place in the dullness of the bay, patterned fabric and cushioned seat in contrast with the greys and blacks and Cyberlife Blues), but his own grip tightened in response.

**'I stay with him.’**

**'I’m staying. I promise, kid.’**

Nothing, in that moment, had felt quite so real as the weight of Hank’s hand on his and Hank’s words in his mind. His LED cycled from red to blue. 'Thank you,’ he whispered, eyes slipping back shut.

His throat and chest cavities were still raw from cold lakewater, and the synthetic skin of his arms still flecked with splinters and scratches, but he wasn’t alone, and that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> one (1) rewrite later (not by choice but ig that's how it be sometimes) and I think that ending works lol


End file.
